The Witness
by Hyaci
Summary: The years have not been kind to Harry Potter- all he has ever known is loss. Now, just recovering from the deaths of his friend Hermione and his wife Ginny, Harry is recruited into the Wizarding Witness Protection Program. He thought it would make him feel less worthless if he helped protect others. Little did he know he would be protecting Hermione Granger's murderer. Harmony!


Hi hi hi! This is Hyaci, and I'm here to present you with my new Harry Potter fic.

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**Chapter 1: aLiVe**

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Harry ran, occasionally twisting around to fire a couple of spells behind him. An inhuman scream of pain informed him that his spells had hit their mark, but he took no time to revel in the victory. Instead, he plowed on, his feet propelling him at the top speed that his level of athleticism would allow. His sprint carried him deep into the canyons, and his body only failed him when he could be sure that he had lost his pursuers.

He doubled over, chest heaving, his lungs completely devoid of air. Air. He needed to breathe- he tried to catch his breath. Still breathing quite heavily, he dropped to the floor dazedly, not caring that his Auror uniform was stained by the reddish brown mud, or that it had been torn while he had been running. He flipped over, to face the night sky- a sky embedded with stars- sighing almost contentedly as the mud caressed his head with cool, liquid fingers.

After laying there for what seemed to be an eternity, he picked himself back up, and checked the important package he had been entrusted with. It was still there, intact and safe. He exhaled in relief, and stowed it back into his pocket- the pocket upon which he had cast an undetectable extension charm. It was where he kept his valuables- anything from gifts from his friends to classified information belonging to the ministry he worked for.

And now, it also housed the package.

Bryce Canyon national park in Utah. That was where he was presently at. Ten years ago, if you had inquired Harry Potter about this particular location, you would have been told that he did not know of the place you spoke about. Or that he would, most likely, not have the opportunity to visit the park due to his slim chances at survival.

Regardless, here he was now, and so were the dark forces in pursuit of him. His paranoia compelled him to look over his shoulder, to confirm that his fears were, as of yet, unjustified. Evidently, they had been unable to track him. Feeling a surge of pride at this feat, he turned back to the task at hand- his search for the safe house, provided courtesy of the American Magical Society (which was apparently their counterpart to the ministry of magic, although Harry noted a distinct air of efficiency in their headquarters that was noticeably absent in the British Ministry.)

The safe house was within a hundred yards of him… his wristwatch, enchanted to glow in the presence of it, told him that. Of the safe house itself, he only knew that it was disguised as a natural formation, and that the password was "Gangrenous". A quick survey of his surroundings yielded three possibilities- a cave on the side of the rock formation beside him was quickly discounted. It was far too obvious. The giant arch about twenty feet north was also unlikely- it would have been difficult to enchant it to work the way it was supposed to.

That left only the hoodoo- a natural structure that was uniquely characteristic of Bryce Canyon. Quickly, he walked up to it, and pressed his lips against the cold, red rock, and whispered in a soft, nearly inaudible voice, "_Gangrenous_."

Immediately, he felt the hoodoo shift and change. A few minutes later, he found himself staring, not at a stack of sedimentary rocks, but a lift. Swiftly, he pulled himself in and closed the doors. In the dimly lit elevator car, he could see three buttons shining on the wall. Harry thought for a moment, and toyed with the idea of pressing a button other than the one he was told to, but ultimately discarded the idea. As instructed, he pressed the third button, and then immediately grasped the bars on the sides of the lift as he had been instructed to do. The lift did not disappoint. It plummeted at the highest velocity that Harry had ever experienced (and in his cover job as a Quidditch player, he had experienced a great many high speeds.) He felt the side of his mouth lift up into the air, felt his ears pop due to the pressure, but still he held tight. Eventually, the ride decelerated, and sooner than he had expected, he found the elevator doors open into a brightly lit and grandly decorated lobby.

"Good day, Mr. Potter," the blonde receptionist smiled blandly. She was the generic receptionist, Harry noted- fairly attractive, and vapid.

"I'm here to represent the British Ministry's witness protection program," he said.

"Yes, I am aware. They informed me of your arrival." She pleasantly extended one delicate, manicured hand to point in the direction of a soundproof conference room. "Your client awaits you inside, Mr. Potter."

Harry gave her a curt nod and a friendly smile, and then he strode over to the room. He paused outside the door, and rather than pulling on the handle, followed standard procedure and pulled out his wand. Quickly, he tapped the wood in each of the four grooves that ran down the length of the door. With a creak, a groan, and a shudder, the door parted, and opened into the conference room within.

He was curious to see who it was that needed the protection of the Witness Protection program. The file barely had the minimum required information. All he knew was the client was a high-profile witch, who had faked her death in the past three years due to death threats from the Dark Forces (basically a collection of Voldemort sympathizers that remained despite his death over ten years ago.)

There was only one person in the conference room- her. She was a demure witch, he noted, dressed elegantly in high society clothing. Her brown hair was glossy and curly, and done in a classy style reminiscent of regency-era muggle fashion. He skin was smooth and flawless, and her features were reasonably attractive- no great beauty certainly, but there was a certain aristocratic appeal about her high cheekbones and her thin, perfect nose. Her eyes were big and brown, but there was something tough, something flinty behind them. She looked frigid and unattainable.

"Hello there," he said, sitting down languidly across from her.

Her eyes widened- was that recognition in her eyes?- and she responded in a thin, pleasant voice with a highly cultured accent, "Pleased to meet you."

"I know I'm not supposed to tell you my name," he continued, "But I'm all over the papers, and most likely, you already know about me, so what's the difference? I'm Harry Potter. On the other hand, I don't know your name, and I'm not supposed to find out, so let's call you… Jane."

Jane's lips curled. "How modest of you to say, Mr. Potter. Yes, you were indeed all over the papers in the years past, and I do know of you." A pause. "I suppose Jane is an acceptable name. I assume you have the package?"

"One moment," he said. He reached into his pocket, and began to rummage through the contents. After a while, he managed to extract the package. Somehow, despite being in the same pocket with his myriad of other belongings, it had managed to avoid being crushed or squashed. He cursed himself for his carelessness in the handling of the package. Carefully now- for he knew it contained valuables- he slid it over to Jane.

"Charming," she whispered, and she pulled out her wand from her robe. With careful concentration, she slid the tip over the box, and it fell apart at the seams, revealing a small, thin box. With careful hands, she opened it to reveal a handkerchief, deftly folded so that it would conform to the shape of the box. She picked it up, and held it reverently- almost lovingly- to her lips, before stowing it into the pocket at her bosom.

But Harry did not notice her actions, or even the handkerchief. Instead, he was focused on the wand that she had used to open the box. It was the wand of Hermione Granger.

Immediately, he was on his feet, his wand drawn and pointed at her.

"How did you get her wand?" he asked through gritted teeth.

Jane did not even glance up his way. She had been expecting this- that was why she pulled out the wand, to distract him from the handkerchief.

"A duel," she answered, her lips curled into a superior sneer. "Need I say that she was unremarkably easy? I had expected more from 'the brightest witch of her age'. She was an embarrassment."

"When?" His wand was now pressed to Jane's throat.

"A year and a half ago, in California." A long pause, punctuated only by the steady ticking of the clock on the wall. "The week before the nuclear incident, of course."

The 'incident' referred to and skirted around was an accident that had happened while Hermione had been vacationing with Ron in California. Something had interfered with the activity of the reactor, and it exploded. Anything within a hundred mile radius had been fried. Ron had lost a leg, and Hermione… she had been a disfigured corpse. Her wand had been missing. If she had had it with her, she could have protected herself.

He had thought it suspicious, in any case. Nuclear accidents, no matter how devastating, usually didn't have an explosion radius of a hundred miles.

After her death, Ron had fallen apart, and Harry nearly had as well. But for Ron's sake, he'd stayed strong. He had to.

But now, here was Jane, incredibly suspicious with Hermione's wand and a smirk unpleasantly adorning her face. And Harry was certain that she had been the one who had murdered Hermione Granger.

* * *

"So what's my new identity?" Jane asked him, her voice sounding pleasant, toneless, and utterly bored. She was playing with a necklace hanging around her long picturesque neck, dangling just above her well defined collarbone.

"You'll be a teacher," Harry answered, his teeth gritted. He was still angry at having been assigned to keep safe the woman he believed to be Hermione's murderer, and an airplane ride with said woman was not helping matters at all. In all honesty, he was seriously considering breaking his moral code and compromising her safety by broadcasting her whereabouts to her enemies. "You'll teach transfiguration. That is, assuming that you are adept at the art."

Jane smiled an easy smile. "Adept? I'm a master." She carelessly played around with Hermione's wand, transfiguring random things such as paperclips into various animals that Harry knew from experience were difficult to accomplish.

"Then you'll be fine," Harry said curtly.

He was going to leave it at that, but Jane was looking at him curiously, as if she couldn't quite figure him out. He returned her stare frostily, and she turned away with a smile, before returning her gaze to him placidly.

"You didn't say where I would teach," she said, her voice mildly amused.

"Salem's Witch Institute," he grunted. "You'll have to get rid of your accent." He thought for a moment. "It's an all girls' school, I think."

"It isn't," she answered her accent seamlessly transitioning to that of the New Englanders. She stared straight into his eyes, not afraid in the least. "In 2002, it was turned into a co-ed school by the educational board, after much badgering by American Wizards. In fact, about a year later, the president of the American Wizarding society issued a law that ruled that all schools under his jurisdiction-"

"All right," he said, frustrated with the difficulty of his client. "I get it. Shut up already, will you?"

She fell silent, her eyes still trained on his.

Harry felt the need to change the subject. "I see your accent is flawless."

"I've lived here in the past," Jane said airily. "I've been here for over a year now. I even know a bit of American Pop-Culture."

"Judging from your appearance," Harry said, eyeing her classy, snobbish attire, "One would think that you were above pop culture."

"It's a good thing very few people worth meeting judge by appearance then," she snarked.

His anger flared at the veiled insult, but he had to acknowledge he had basically invited it upon himself. Sighing, he reached for a mug, grasped the handle, and walked himself over to the coffee machine. Aromatic scents breached his nostrils as the machine dispensed some of the hot, black beverage into his cup. Coffee wasn't his preference, but he had worked late nights in the past few weeks, and needed caffeine to function.

He raised the mugs to his lips, and took in a tentative sip. The drink was warm, hot. It was invigorating. The bitter taste was almost as bitter as the reality he was living, almost as bitter as the aftermath of the war, the aftermath of Ron's accident, of Hermione's death.

Life had ceased to be anything short of bitter following the nuclear incident. Ron had stopped being himself- he was a shell of what he used to be. Gone were the jokes and the jibes that had given Ron his uniqueness- those had died with Hermione. He had become serious, lifeless, and most disturbingly of all, depressing. He was no longer Ron most of the time.

Harry hadn't been himself for a while either, but Ginny had helped him regain his life, his ability to feel. When he thought of his wife- who had died in the previous year due to pregnancy complications- he broke into a sad smile. Ginny- she had been the one to bring life back to the family, to the world after Hermione's shocking death. And if Ron wasn't himself, she was always able to coax him out of his protective cocoon once in a while. Even if Ron hadn't been Ron all the time, it had been a blessing to have him occasionally. All that had ended with Ginny's death, a death at which he'd been sad, but been able to move past. After all, she was the one who had taught him to keep living past such tragedies- it was only right that he honor her and exercise what she had taught him. To keep living.

"You drink coffee black," Jane noted, breaking his reverie, still seated at the table with a conjured glass of water in her hands. When he gave her the evil eye, she cheerfully raised her glass in acknowledgement.

"Only pansies drink it with cream," he muttered as he sat down once more.

"That's what you think?" she asked, her voice barely containing her amusement.

Following her question, silence pervaded, as he did not deign to make an answer, and she felt it would only be awkward to start conversation up once more. They just sat there, her elegantly sipping her glass of water, while he took periodic gulps of coffee to keep himself awake.

When the silence grew too heavy for his liking, he turned his head to the side, and stared out the window of the airplane. Below them was the sea, glittering in reflection of the thousands of stars above. He could see waves lazily lap at the other waves, continuously like a sinewy creature, all the way across the line of vision and into the distant horizon, where the full moon met the sea in an eerie kiss. Seeing the moon so full, so large, he could not stop himself from remembering his old friend and ally, Remus Lupin.

Remus was only one of the many that had been lost in the great Battle at Hogwarts, but Harry somehow felt that his story was the most tragic. His entire life, Remus had been living as an outcast, a freak. And then, when he had just found acceptance and love in the form of Nymphadora Tonks, it had been torn away from him in a split second by a death eater and a green streak of light. Harry could see him now, his facial scars more visible than ever, his eyes glassy, and without peace even in death.

Harry closed his eyes before the emotions could overwhelm him, and force themselves out in the form of tears.

"It's okay to cry, you know."

Jane was looking at him, pity in her brown eyes. That was what he hated most- the pity. His friends had understood that- Ron, Hermione. They'd never pitied him- they'd suffered along with him, felt the pain that he did. Not just for the death of Remus, but for every life unnecessarily lost in the clash between good and evil. They'd known that it wasn't okay to cry, because that somehow detracted from the sacrifices made- sacrifices that were made to perpetuate peace rather than sorrow. Others had never understood, however. And Jane didn't understand- that was why the pity was superficially expressed in those eyes of hers. That was why she thought it was all right to cry.

"No," he answered simply. "It's not."

* * *

In a private terminal at Salem Magical Airport, both Jane and Harry Potter emerged from the government-owned jet. Jane was carefully disguised with as many protective measures as possible- polyjuice potion, sunglasses, an ugly hat, and a pink coat. Harry, on the other hand, was under his invisibility cloak. Together, they were walking to a set of restrooms inconveniently placed at the other end of the airport.

It was strange, Harry thought to himself, that the Americans preferred to use mundane alternatives to magic. He noticed this in many aspects of magical American society. Rather than apparation, airplanes, and other muggle methods of transportation were used. He had asked some of the Society Officials about it, but they merely shook their heads and grinned at him.

Suddenly, Jane stopped and elbowed him sharply in the rib, causing him to experience a large intake of air. He was rubbing his side and eyeing her resentfully when he noticed her subtly pointing across the airport to a faraway figure that seemed to be approaching. He squinted at it, but could not make whoever it was out. He felt a tug on his arm, and realized that Jane was trying to pull him away. Reluctantly, he tore his gaze from the figure in the distance and followed.

Together, they threaded through a throng of people, almost losing each other at various points in the crowd. In fact, Harry was almost positive that several times, he almost lost her, but he always managed to somehow catch sight of her shortly after he gave up looking. Sometimes, he would glance behind him to see who it was that was following them, but he was only ever able to see a blur of sameness.

Finally, they wound up near another restroom, and he turned to face her. "What was that about?"

She jumped, and he remembered that he was invisible. Obviously, though she had been expecting him to speak to her, she was nevertheless spooked when he did so under the cover of invisibility. She turned and looked right past him, her eyes searching. "Where are you?" she whispered.

"Here," he said.

She turned, and tried to focus on where she thought he would be, but he noted that her gaze was a few centimeters off. He grinned- not that she could see it.

"What was what about?" she asked.

"Who was that following us?"

Jane snorted, and almost looked amused. He felt slightly annoyed at her response. Evidently, they hadn't been followed- he'd somehow misunderstood her. He turned back to survey the crowd, and sure enough, the person that he thought she had been pointing at was just an ordinary witch who cast not one glance at them as she passed them by.

"I saw one of the society officials," she explained. "They were pointing this way, so I assumed that they moved the exit point here."

"Oh," he said, a little embarrassed by his mistake.

"Well," she said, shaking off his grasp with a tight smile emblazoned across her face. "I've got to enter the girls' room. You probably should go through the men's'." Jane turned and slowly walked past the threshold into the restroom. After watching her vanish past the doorway, he turned and slunk into the men's room, ready to reenact the necessary procedure to get to the exit point.

It was a grimy, overused room, with mold and mildew creeping up the walls, wild and uncontained. One tap was constantly dripping, and from the puddles on the floor, Harry guessed that those who utilized the facilities did not have good aim. He thought he could detect faint traces of blood somewhere here, but it was an old smell- probably one to two years by then- and only noses of veteran aurors could even make out that there was another scent beneath the overpowering stench of piss and shit.

Slowly, Harry made his way to the third stall, careful to avoid all the puddles that lay between him and his goal. Not once did he misstep- something he found himself utterly proud of. He smiled as he reached the stall- he'd managed to avoid any contact with the foul fluid. Even his cloak had managed to escape that cruel fate.

As soon as he was inside, he turned, and flicked his wand wordlessly at the door. His nonverbal _colloportus_ sent a steady stream of blue light into the lock, and a _click_ informed everyone outside that the stall was taken. Harry then turned back to face the toilet, and, taking a deep breath, plunged his face into the bowl.

Immediately, he felt not water on his face, but the very air ripple around him. He blinked a few times, before he opened his eyes. Immediately, a bright light surrounded him, and he vaguely heard a mechanical voice confirming his identity, before he was dropping head first into what seemed to be a never ending pit.

But it did end- that was evident when he landed face first into a bunch of cushions that softened his fall. He bounced once, twice, three times before he landed on his behind. He stood up, rubbing his butt and willing the pain away.

Jane was there, herself again, the polyjuice potion removed by the trip through the toilet (which stripped one of all enchantments cast upon their person.) She stood there, looking bored, until Harry tore off his cloak, whereupon she caught sight of him. Then, her mouth twisted into a smirk.

"Good day," she said, her voice sweet and honeyed and fake. "Have a good trip?"

"Quite," he said dryly, his dislike for her being shelved rather violently. It would not do to openly show his distaste for her here in a government base- it would only make others question his ability to perform with impartiality. "Did you miss me?"

"I must admit I did," she smiled, clasping her hands together. "It was getting rather monotonous sitting here alone."

Someone cleared their throat loudly behind Harry. For a moment, an ugly toad-like monstrosity crossed his mind, but when he turned around, he instead saw a pleasant looking, elderly witch with kind-looking eyes. Perhaps she was dressed similarly to Dolores Umbridge, but that was where the resemblance ended. Her graying hair was tied back in a grandmotherly bun, and laugh lines flanked her warm smile.

"Hello there," she said in a rather low-pitched voice. "You two must be part of the witness protection joint venture between the British Ministry and the American society. Am I correct in assuming that you sir," she turned to Harry, "are the agent, and you miss," now she turned to Jane, "are the client?"

"You are," Jane acceded, inclining her head rather respectfully. Harry almost raised his eyebrow, before remembering her pretense of regality, and realizing that this must be her attempting to keep up the appearance of such elegance. His barely covered snort earned him a curious look from the elderly witch and a warning glare from Jane.

"Perfect!" The elderly lady smiled, clapping her hands together gleefully. "My name is Brenda, and I'll lead you to where the others are."

She started walking backwards, all the while telling them more than they wanted to know about the program. "The program was started up last year, the brainchild of wizarding lawmaker Hermione Granger." That, Harry hadn't known, but the little tidbit was making him reevaluate the entire process that the program employed as standard procedure. It seemed a bit paranoid to have been Hermione's idea.

"Of course, she died last year in the unfortunate nuclear incident of California, and was therefore unable to complete all the regulations and planning necessary. The project was then handed over to her co-workers, and together, they completed it. We have been operating for a few months, and already we have nearly twenty clients signed up." She paused, before making a turn and continuing.

"Three other clients are here in Salem with you. We're grouping you together to make for easier mobilization if necessary." Up a set of stairs, and Brenda was still speaking. "You will meet them shortly, of course. And… we're here." She walked off to the side, and gestured at a doorway before them.

"You will need to wait in the lobby for about ten minutes as your new identities are finalized. You may socialize with any of the two clients or their guardians within, but be aware that their lives will be engineered to never intersect yours, so it might be a good idea not to form bonds."

Jane nodded. "Got it." She gave Brenda one last smile, before she walked up to the door and grasped the handle. She turned it, and yanked the door open to reveal a long, narrow passageway. She disappeared into it, quickly followed by Harry. They were only a few meters in when the door closed behind them, and locked audibly. He shuddered, and prompted Jane onwards.

They continued on for what seemed to be a few minutes, but was in reality but a few seconds. Eventually, they reached the end of a tunnel, where there was a portrait smiling back at them- it was the portrait of an old general, his cheeks puffed out and his hair dusted white…

"Hello there, Georgie," Jane said with a smile.

"Good day to you, lassie," Georgie responded. "Password?"

"_Declaration_," she answered, obviously familiar with the painting. With a satisfied grunt, Georgie swung open, allowing them admittance into the large room behind him.

It was more than merely large- it was grandiose. Harry could almost swear that it stretched far, hundreds of meters into the distance, all marble floor and gilded gold walls. Huge, crystal chandeliers stretched down from the high, domed ceilings, flickering with an artificial, magic flame. At the other end of the room, there seemed to be a cluster of loveseats, and a reception desk.

Somehow, the pair managed to make it to the other side in less than a minute. Jane sat down on one of the love-seats, and Harry hesitantly followed suit. He looked around, to see if any of the other clients were there yet- and indeed one was. It was an old man, accompanied by a gum-snapping young witch. Harry narrowed his eyes- whoever he was, if he was assigned such a protector, he wasn't important. Why had he signed up for protection then?

As if reading his mind, Jane gave a tinkling laugh and answered his unasked question. "The program isn't just for people who need protection- if they can pay for it, those who want such protection can get it as well."

He turned to look at her. "Did you want it, or did you need it?"

"I needed it."

Harry nodded, and turned his attention to the reception desk. One of the witches there was gaping at him, pointing and conversing to her less impressed friend. He fought to suppress a grin- it seemed that even on this side of the Atlantic, he was- if not a hero- at least a recognizable figure.

"Don't let it go to your head," Jane said amused.

"Are you a legilimens?" he asked her suspiciously.

"No," she answered, her grin still in place as she flicked her wand about boredly. "But I don't need to be to see that you're enjoying the attention."

He flushed. "Mind your own business."

"Sure I will," she said carelessly. "But you see, you're protecting me, so that makes _your_ business _my _business. Especially if it has a possibility of interfering with your ability to protect me."

"Who says that kind of attention hampers my ability?" he said defensively.

"Pure observation," she replied. "The very fact that you have not noticed the new arrival tells me just how impaired you are."

And it was true- as he turned, he caught sight of the new arrival. In the next few days, he would wish to rescind that one action in particular, because that action unbalanced everything that he thought his life was. Lies were exposed for what they were, and the truth came out despite the fact that it would cause him so much pain. What were before incontestable truth became unstable lies, and far fetched theories were solidified and confirmed.

He turned, and caught sight of pale, alabaster skin, coppery red hair, and blue eyes, and knew at once who it was. But why was she here? She was… dead. Or at least, that was what he had been told at the hospital when his wife had not returned to him, had lain in that bed motionless and not breathing. He didn't understand how- he'd held the hand of her corpse for hours, and cried his heart out. In that entire hour, never once had she stirred.

That hand- which had been cold, clammy, and dead that day- was moving in animated gestures, as she spoke to her protector. Her bright blue eyes darted back and forth, before settling on him, and her mouth abruptly shut. Harry couldn't read her eyes- he'd always been able to, but somehow, that changed.

His head swiveled back to face Jane, who was looking at the two of them curiously. "Who is that?" she asked him.

"Nobody," he answered, his voice guttural and harsh. "Nobody important."

* * *

So what do you think? Read and review please, I'll respond to every signed review!

A cookie to anyone who can guess who Jane is! (it's obvious lol.)


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